Where They Have Been
by Blackcat8991
Summary: A series of drabbles from the Portal universe told by many of the characters. Unrelated circumstances, perhaps, but it all comes together at Bring-your-Daughter-to-Work day...
1. His Purgatory

**Author's Note: **Wow! It sure has been awhile, hasn't it. The last time I wrote anything on here I was twelve and writing truly horrible Legend of Zelda fanfiction. Not that I've given up my love for Zelda, and Malink, of course, but I hope I can say that I've matured a lot since then, and that my writing has gotten _so_ much better. Anyway, this is really just a series of drabbles I've been writing at school when I've been really bored - mostly during geometry - they are of course, not the _best_ examples of my writing, but this is fanfiction! It's not supposed to be the next Harry Potter! So, I guess if you really love Portal as much as I do - and believe me that I'm head over heels for it - please enjoy these very random drabbles!

His Purgatory

He writes on the walls, everywhere, anywhere. Murals, scribbles, everything, anything. They help him forget, to float away on the monotony of painting. The gentle sweep of brush on concrete, like a ship on the sea. Sometimes, he is not even aware of what he's painting. And then, he'll look at what he's done, and the waves of guilt and regret will wash over his delicate ship, and completely destroy it in its mercilessness. And he remembers how he could have tried so much harder to save her, to save both of them. And he scrabbles on the walls of his cage, the impossibly large cage that he himself helped build. He is no better than a rat.

The Rat wishes that he could forget it all, but he can't.

_He can't._

_He can't._

The Rat screams into the endless hum and grind of ancient machinery, it makes him kick the walls, and the paint cans, and scratch at his ears until they bleed. But the sound never leaves him. The Machine is always there, always watching, and She is part of it. The Rat made Her into the Machine, and he hates himself, hates this cell. But he can't leave; all of the doors are locked and barred, and even if they weren't, she holds him there. His other failure, the child that was _his_ responsibility. And it was _his_ duty to protect her, but he had failed.

He hears them, both of them. The memories wave and flicker in front of him, usually so far away. He can hear them, hear them scream, beg, they need him to save them. And he runs, but they're just out of reach. One more step. But they never get closer. Then, occasionally, as if to torture him more, the memories appear so close that the Rat can reach in and touch them. Change every one of his failures. Correct the mistakes, right the wrongs. Change the past.

_Change the past._

_Change the past._

The only companion he has here is a Box. She was once alive, a real person. But she was tested once, and now she's dead, worse than dead. Just alive, inside the box, never able to reach up and open it. She's in the dark, calling out to the Rat; calms him, tells him that what he hears is not real. But he knows, deep inside, that it is. The screams of his failures bottle up inside, until they fill him up, and he thinks that he might explode. But he can't, not yet.

Because there's still one thing he has to live for: The hope that someday, she can be free. She can see the outside world with eyes filled with wonder, eyes that haven't seen the sun in so long. And he draws her, every detail etched in his mind. The cream skin and black hair. The field of wheat around her, the yellow of it, swaying in the wind, and the blue, blue sky. And there's no way to save her. No way. But...maybe he can.

_But maybe he can._

_But maybe he can._

If he can set her on her way. If anyone can escape the Machine's grasp, Her grasp, it would be her. His darling, darling daughter. His Chell. For her, he would do it. He would risk everything just to see her beautiful smile one more time. For her, he would change the future.

_Change the future._

_Change the future._


	2. His Promise, Part 1

His Promise - Part 1

Her parents were fighting again, and Lizzy didn't like it. As they screamed at each other, Lizzy covered her ears. There was something about the yelling that made her feel sad. She didn't like to hear them fight, and she wished that they could just get along. Lizzy remembered times when the three of them, Lizzy and her mother and her father, had fun, going to the park, or the pool, but there were always _looks_ between them.

"Daddy, can we get ice cream?" She had asked, as he held her tiny hand in his, and she swung them back and forth, happy, skipping.

"Sure love", he said. Dirty look from her mother.

That was how this afternoon's fight had started, a simple thing like ice cream, but had quickly escalated into a shouting match about things that Lizzy couldn't even begin to understand. As she sat on the living room floor with a coloring book, she caught snatches of their screams, even though she never really listened, because they all seemed to be about the same thing, at least from Lizzy's perspective.

"Well, maybe if you spent more time at home instead of schmoozing that fucker of a boss", her father.

"Schmoozing? Ben Wheatley, you are an egotistical asshole! Why the hell do you care about who I choose to schmooze?" Her mother.

"I know that you bloody well_ fucked_ him! So just how does that make _me_ the assho-"

"Ding-dong! The doorbell rang. The shouting stopped abruptly. For once, the house was silent. "I'll get it", muttered her father. Lizzy thought that she could have cut the air with a knife, because the tension was so thick.

Her father opened the door. "Oh. Hey Sam. What are you doing here?"

Lizzy dropped her crayons and beamed. "Uncle Sam!" She yelled and ran to the door, her feet thunking along the polished wood floor as she went. She barreled past her dad and catapulted straight into him, wrapping her arms around his middle. He almost tripped, but managed to stay on his feet.

Uncle Sam smiled at her. "Hello, Lizzy". She beamed up at him, smile as bright as the sun. "I was in the neighborhood, for a story, so I thought that I'd pop over to see Lizzy".

"A story? For that newspaper of yours?" asked her mother, who had snuck up behind her father. The tension was almost sparking between them, and Uncle Sam could tell. He adjusted his glasses in nervousness.

"Yeah", he said, "A big one. You heard about the big 'surprise' that Cave Johnson's going to reveal at Aperture's Bring-your-Daughter-to-Work day?" Her parents nodded. "Well, my boss wants me to cover it!"

"That's great!" Exclaimed her father, trying to sound enthusiastic, "Finally moving up in the world, little brother?"

"But why were you in our neighborhood for _that_ story?" Her mother asked.

"Well, some employees live around here", said Uncle Sam sheepishly, "And Bring-your-Daughter-to-Work day is technically an 'employees only' event, so I'm trying to scrounge up what I can in case they won't, you know, let me in".

"Oh", said her father, other things clearly on his mind. "Listen, Sam. could you do us a favor and watch Elizabeth for a few minutes? Dee and I need to take a drive". Lizzy grinned. Her parents were usually in a much better mood after they'd taken a drive. _And_ she got to play with Uncle Sam!

Uncle Sam frowned for a moment, clearly concerned, probably about her parents, but then he seemed to mentally shake himself and smiled. "Sure thing, Ben"

"Thanks, man! You are the best brother a guy could ask for", said her father. He grabbed his car keys and dashed out the door.

Her mother followed, saying "I'll see you in a little while, Lizzy", and blowing a kiss on the way out.

"Well", said Uncle Sam, "It looks like it's just you and me, Lizzy. What do you want to do?"

Lizzy paused for a second, thinking. "I've got a coloring book in the living room, c'mon". She pulled Uncle Sam by the hand into the living room. Lizzy opened her Aperture Science "Science is Fun" Coloring Book for Children, which she had previously discarded on the floor, and set it on the coffee table, next to her crayons.

The page Lizzy had opened to had two pages to color. One was a boring logo ("This one is yours", she told Uncle Sam) and one was a pretty scientist lady that Lizzy took for herself.

"So how's school?" Asked Uncle Sam, brushing his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes as he scribbled blue on the logo.

"It's awful. I hate it", said Lizzy, giving the lady scientist some very messy lipstick.

"What's so bad about it?" Asked Uncle Sam. He stopped coloring. "Don't you have some friends to talk to?"

"Yeah, I have friends. But some of the other kids are mean to me".

"Like who?"

"Amanda Johnson", mumbled Lizzy.

"She sounds like a right proper snob if I ever heard one", assured Uncle Sam. Lizzy smiled. That was what she liked about her uncle; he always took her side on everything.

"She is!" Complained Lizzy. "She always talks about how she's got an IQ of 125, and how 'my dad makes more money than your dad'", she mimicked. Uncle Sam laughed. "_And_, she made fun of my accent".

"Is this girl in your class?"

"No, she's two grades above me", said Lizzy, before continuing with her rant, "But I told her that she can make fun of my accent all she wants, 'cause I'm not inviting her to my birthday party!"

"Oh, that's right!" Said Uncle Sam. "You have a birthday coming up", Lizzy grinned, "How old are you gonna be again? Sixteen?"

"No!" Lizzy laughed. "I'm going to be seven!" She boasted.

"_And_ you mentioned a birthday party. Just when is this grand event to take place?"

"Tomorrow! You _are_ coming, right?"

Uncle Sam's face fell. "Tomorrow? Oh no..."

"You can't make it? Why?" Lizzy demanded.

"There's a story I'm working on", Uncle Sam began, "And I have to be somewhere tomorrow to report on it". Lizzy was heartbroken. She wanted him to be there. He was her favorite uncle. But Lizzy knew that this was important to him, his "Big Story".

"That's alright", she said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

"I'm sorry, love", he said. "But, hey, maybe in a few days, we can go get ice cream for your birthday, just you and me. Okay?"

Lizzy brightened up immediately, this was the best present he could have given her.

"Okay! You promise?"

"Promise".


	3. Her Revenge

Her Revenge

Mr. Johnson leaves the darkened office, and leaves fear and pain behind. Caroline's shoulders shake as she sobs, but she has to pull herself together, has to be strong. But she's so tired of everything, she just wants it to end. Everything hurts, and Caroline feels used, and dirty, like a rag doll some little girl left in the road to get run over by cars and trucks again and again, never able to stand up.

Her nerves are as tight as violin strings, every noise sends a stab of fear up her spine. With trembling fingers, Caroline reaches for her purse. Rummaging through, she feels around through the clutter of gum wrappers and tampons for the bottle. Her fingers briefly pause at the slick surface of the photo, the picture of him and her together, happy. Well, as happy as anyone like them could be, but she pushes it aside and wraps her fingers around the plastic bottle instead.

"Ziaprazidone", supposedly the miracle drug for people like Caroline. She doesn't know why she takes it, it never works. But it's a habit, born from a hope that she can finally be normal. She twists open the bottle and downs the pills dry. She takes a deep breath, wills her nerves to stop forcing her stomach into knots.

It's time to leave the office. Caroline rubs her fingers under her eyes and they come away black, her eyeliner is all over her face. She stands up and walks over to the mirror, but slowly, sorely, she hurts too much to move any faster. She wipes the makeup off completely, it doesn't do to have an executive assistant with half-assed makeup. A few stray tears find their way down her cheeks, but she wipes them away quickly. Sweep up the mess, no one can see.

She's considered telling someone so many times, tell them about what he does to her. But in truth, no one would believe someone in her condition, especially a woman, chalk it up to a paranoid female in a patriarchal society. And then, what would he do to her? Clean up the evidence surely. Which meant not only Caroline, but the child as well, and anyone in her vicinity. Which meant _him_. And Caroline could not allow anything to happen to the man she loved. It would destroy her.

It takes another ten minutes for Caroline to stop sobbing and pull herself together. She turns the light back on in the office, nothing strange going on in there. The door clicks behind her as she closes it, and her stiletto heels tick menacingly as she struts down the hallway, trying to appear confident, in control; but she's sure that the haunting look in her eyes gives her away.

She shutters at the white-wash walls, the tile floors. Caroline hates them, they remind her too much of hospitals. Caroline has seen a lot of those. But hospitals are for sick people, and Caroline refuses to believe that she is sick. She can practically hear the hushed quiet of the waiting room, the people who are hopeless, desolate. And then, there's the girl in the corner, always alone, no parents, no siblings. Do they not know how sick she is, or do they just not care? And what has happened to this poor child to give her that dead look in her eyes?

But Caroline shakes herself, that was a long time ago. She's gotten better, she tries to tell herself, but that's a lie. She's just gotten better at lying about it, looking like she's normal.

The delivery man looks around in astonishment at the vast, underground atrium of the Aperture Science Enrichment Center, the skylights pouring weak daylight onto the ground, casting shadows specifically designed to make the logo that Caroline has become more than familiar with over the years. Only someone with a lot of money to throw around could commission this masterpiece of architecture.

Caroline approaches him. She's been expecting this package, and preparing for it. "Package for Cave Johnson?" The delivery man asks, pushing his curly carrot-top hair out of his eyes, and trying to look cool, even though Caroline is sure that he's itching to see the rest of the facility.

"I'm his assistant", says Caroline, "I'll take it to him".

"Sign here, please", says the delivery man, handing her a clipboard. Caroline draws an 'x' on the signature line, and hands it back to him. No time to waste.

He hands her the package, a shoe box tied in string. _He was always a cheap-skate_, she thinks, sighing.

Tucking the package under her arm, Caroline glides down the hall, trying to look like she's supposed to have this package, like she's taking it directly to the head honcho of this whole corporation. She's not, but no one else must know that. She turns the corner, down a rarely used hallway. And there, the bathroom. She pushes open the door, it's heavy, especially in heels, and slips inside.

The door squeaks shut behind her. Caroline breathes a sigh of relief. No one followed her. And no one in here, but she checks under the stalls, just in case. It smells slightly of mildew, and the whole place feels damp and disgusting. But it will serve her needs just fine.

Caroline sets the package on the sink, it balances nicely, and opens the box. Several gray moon-rocks sulk at the bottom, but she doesn't touch them, not yet. Reaching into her purse, Caroline pulls out the surgical gloves and snaps them on, mustn't leave fingerprints. But with any luck, there won't even be an investigation.

Then, comes the other little bottle, the one with a stopper on the top and the skull and crossbones danger sign on the side. Poison, incredibly rare, and it took her an arm and a leg to get it. It's odorless, colorless, and virtually undetectable in the body. One touch is enough to guaranty a very slow, very painful death. He deserves it.

But does he really? Does anyone deserve this? He has a daughter. Well, another daughter, a legitimate daughter. How will she feel when he's taken from her? And how would it feel, to die slowly, feeling the poison seep through you're veins, knowing that there's no way to stop it from killing you. But that sounds familiar. Because that's exactly what he's doing to her, poisoning her with his touch. And she dies a little inside every time. This wasn't murder, it was simply a taste of his own medicine. He deserves it.

Caroline felt the tears well up in her eyes again, and before she can change her mind she dumps the whole bottle over the moon rocks, watches as it bubbles before sinking into them. She throws the bottle against the wall, hears the crack, but she can't see, because she's thrown off the gloves and covered her face with her hands, sobbing. It's going to be over, it's going to be over.

She's cries and laughs at the same time. It's done. No more. No more pain, no more fear, no more stolen tears behind closed doors. Cave Johnson is going to die, and there's nothing he can do about it...


	4. His Promise, Part 2

His Promise - Part 2

Her parents hadn't argued once that day, or the day before that, or the day before that. In fact, they hadn't said anything mean or harsh to each other ever since the night after Lizzy's birthday.

Her father was sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper. He'd turned the page and frowned. As he read, Lizzy watched his face as it slowly turned from a look of concern, to fear, and then...and then nothing. His face just went blank. He stared at the wall, but he clearly wasn't looking at it. So pale was his face that he could have convinced Lizzy that he was a ghost.

"Daddy?" Lizzy asked, getting up off of the floor where she had been reading a picture book.

He didn't say anything for a long time. Lizzy sat next to him on the couch, scared. He'd never acted like this. Finally, in a voice that quavered, he managed to say "Dee...come here for a moment".

Any other time, Lizzy's mother wouldn't have listened, but there was something in that voice that made Lizzy shiver. It sounded numb, and distant, and Lizzy's mother must have noticed that too, because she closed her book and treaded cautiously over to the couch. She placed a hand on her father's shoulder. "Ben", she hazarded, "Is something wrong?"

Her father didn't say anything, just handed her the newspaper with hands that trembled.

She skimmed the article, reading out loud, although half to herself. "Disaster at Aperture Science Enrichment Center..." She broke off, looking panicked, but forced herself to keep reading. "Bring-your-Daughter-to-Work day...Authorities are not positive about the details...at least two-hundred dead, many of them minors...three unaccounted for...no..." She gasped, and almost dropped the paper, "No survivors..."

"Ben..." She hesitated, "Wasn't Sam at..."

"Yes", he said.

Then her mother did something that Lizzy never thought she'd do again, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder.

Ever since then, there had been no arguments, no harsh words. But something was wrong, Lizzy knew, even if her parents were trying to sound normal, and no one would tell her what it was. Not Grandma, who had visited three times since the night after Lizzy's birthday, and not any of her other aunts or uncles. It made Lizzy angry. She was seven years old now, and not a _child_ anymore, she should be told exactly what was going on, why everyone around her seemed so irrevocably sad.

And now, today, her mother had given her a brand new dress. But it wasn't like any of her others; this one was black. Now they were driving down the road to some unknown destination, Lizzy squirming in her car-seat because her tights were uncomfortable. Her father was wearing a suit, which was extremely unusual because Lizzy had never, _ever_ seen her father in a suit, and her mother was wearing a long, dark dress.

They pulled up to what looked, from Lizzy's constricted view out of the car window, like a park. But when Lizzy slid out of the car-seat and hopped down onto the cracked pavement, she saw row upon row of stone slabs, stretching out into the distance as far as she could see. Some of them were covered in writing, and some were so old that they were simply blank. Some had flowers, or angels, or flags decorating them, and some were barren, forgotten. This wasn't a park, Lizzy realized, it was a graveyard.

Lizzy's mother took Lizzy by one hand, and her father by the other, and led them both through the labyrinth of graves; up hills, down hills, past a small shack with a few shovels lined up in a row against the wall. Lizzy started to think that they were going to walk forever. No one said a word. The graveyard was dead silent, no sounds, and no movements. Lizzy shivered, and gripped her mother's hand tighter.

Soon, they reached an open square in the ground, a pile of dirt next to it. A closed wooden box sat beside it; Lizzy wasn't sure that she wanted to know what was inside.

All of her relatives were there, at least the ones from her father's side, and they were all dressed in black, like a flock of crows. They all had the exact same expression of grief on their faces, as if they had all lost their favorite toy and knew that they were never getting it back. But as Lizzy looked around at the assembled group, at the people she knew and the ones she didn't, it seemed like there was someone missing, someone who should be here, but wasn't.

There was another man there that Lizzy didn't know, but he stood out from the rest of the crowd, because he was wearing white, and he had a golden 't' around his neck that glowed faintly in the weak sunlight. He talked for a while, speaking in a monotone way, and the assembled family members bowed their heads. Lizzy did too, though she didn't know why.

The wooden box was picked up by two of her uncles. It was physically light, but seemed to have a great deal of mental weight. "If only they could have found his body", someone whispered. It wasn't until her uncles were gently setting the box into the hole in the ground that Lizzy realized who was missing.

"Mommy", she whispered, "Where's Uncle Sam?"

Her mother breathed in deeply, then she slowly led Lizzy away from the hole in the ground where her uncles had grabbed shovels. Her mother kneeled down in front of Lizzy, so that they could see eye to eye. "Lizzy", she said, biting her lip, "Uncle Sam is...not coming".

"But why?" Lizzy implored, "Did he have another story?"

"No", said her mother, "He's gone".

"Gone where?" Lizzy didn't understand.

"Somewhere...far away".

"But he can't have left!" Lizzy said, "He promised me ice cream for my birthday! Can't we call him?"

"No", said her mother, a little sharper than she had intended. "Not where he is".

"But why?"

"Because he's _dead_, Elizabeth!" Her mother snapped. "They're burying him in the ground right now!" She pointed back towards the hole in the ground. Lizzy stared at her mother, eyes wide. She had never seen her like this, even when she was yelling at her father. So what she was saying must be true, but it can't have been, Uncle Sam couldn't really be...

"Dead?" Lizzy's lip trembled. "No..." But, heart sinking, Lizzy realized what wasn't, but what should have been in the box.

"No!" Lizzy turned and ran back to the grave, tears streaming down her face, leaving spots of even darker black on her dress. "You can't bury him!" She screamed at her uncles, "NO!"

Her father grabbed her around the waist from behind and pulled her close to him. There were tears in his eyes.

And the grave was covered, the tombstone erected. Lizzy and her father sat in front of it for the longest time. Lizzy didn't even care that her dress was surely being stained with grass and dirt. Neither of them said anything. Lizzy read the words on the stone over, and over again. But no matter how often she read them, they didn't change. Her mother stood respectfully behind them for as long as they needed, but the sun started to go down, and she finally had to drag them both back to the car. Lizzy read the inscription one more time: "Here lies Sam Wheatley: The best brother a guy could ask for"

...


End file.
